by Taylor Hyer
“Your dad played football, and he’s a Marine?” I asked, seeming more impressed than I intended. “He's a badass.”
“He played in high school,” she said. “I guess he was really good. Probably could’ve gone somewhere with it, but he joined the Marines before he went to college.”
“Why’d he decide to join the Marines instead?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said softly, looking away. I felt like she was lying by the way she reacted, but I wasn’t going to pry. I didn’t know her well enough for that. I was a persistent guy, especially when it came to girls, but for some reason I didn’t want to push Parker. Maybe it was because she was already so different from anyone I had ever met.
I turned away from her and walked to Duke and Michael. They were laughing about something until they noticed I was walking toward them.
“You talking about me?” I asked.
“No, dude,” Duke said. “Why’d you leave your girl?”
“She’s not my girl,” I said slowly, knowing they needed extreme annunciation to understand me; they had been knocked around on the field one too many times.
“Not trying to get to know her anymore?” Michael asked.
“He probably already found out what color her panties are, so he’s set for a while,” Duke laughed, pushing me slightly.
“Bro, fuck off,” I said.
“Wow, Ray Ray is getting agitated,” Duke laughed.
“Do you even know what agitated means, you big lump of moron?” I asked. I could feel my body temperature rising. I didn’t know why, but I was pissed at Duke and Michael. I wanted nothing to do with the conversation anymore, so I walked away. I stormed back to Parker, who was still standing alone. It hurt my heart that she was still alone. She clearly hadn’t made any friends yet. It hurt me even more knowing that my heart could actually hurt. What was going on?
Parker
He was trying way too hard to get to know me. Didn’t he know that I had watched basically every movie ever, and I knew exactly what his goals were? I could play nice since I had no interest in making enemies, especially with an extremely popular football player. Like I said, I’d seen the movies; making enemies with popular people would make you extremely unpopular. I was fine with being unnoticed, but I didn’t want to be disliked.
Gym class was over, which meant I had to go to study hall. I had Ms. Anglo as my study hall teacher, which put me at ease because I already knew who she was. The less people I had to meet, the better. She took attendance, not having my name on her roster yet.
She looked up at me once she was finished. “Everyone, this is our new student, Parker,” she said loudly. “Please make her feel welcome.”
Everyone turned to me, and I could feel the heat radiating from my face. I reached into my backpack to find my journal. I didn’t have any homework for my first two classes, so there wasn’t much I could do.
I heard the door close, but I didn’t look up. My journal absorbed me like a sponge. I was fully engrossed in my writing, trying to find the best way to describe the new school in a poem. At every new school, I wrote a new poem on the first day of my first impressions. Then, when we inevitably had to move, I wrote about the school on the last day. I tried to write my feelings about it, but those poems were always the same: “I’m leaving. Nothing else is new. I made no friends. I’m not that sad”. Very Poe-esque, right?
“Whatcha writing?” a voice above me asked. On instinct, I pulled my journal closer to me, hiding the words I had put down on the paper.
I looked up. RJ.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, showing his teeth; one of which had a small chip in it.
I closed my journal and smiled shyly. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t expect anyone to talk to me.”
He laughed softly, “and why is that?”
“Usually when someone is so deep into their work, they don’t want to be bothered.” I didn’t mean to sound so snippy, but the words left my mouth at an alarmingly fast rate. I put my hand over my mouth and looked away. “Sorry,” I said, probably inaudible.
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “I shouldn’t have disrupted you.”
“Thanks,” I said back. “I’m just writing a poem about the school.”
“Can I read?” he reached forward, forcing me to lean further back in my chair.
I pulled the journal to my lap. “It’s not really meant for sharing.”
Why would he be so forward? Of course he would be. I don’t know why I was surprised. He ruled the school, which meant he believed that he could do whatever he wanted. I was sure even the teachers worshiped at his feet.
“Can I ask you a quick question?” I said, almost immediately regretting the decision. He sat down in the open chair next to me. Yup, I regretted it.
“Shoot,” he smiled, looking too proud.
“What position do you play?” I asked.
“In football?” RJ responded.
No, in cricket you moron, I thought. “Yes,” I responded.
“Wide receiver,” he said, sitting up more in his chair, looking as proud as my parents did when my brother learned how to use the “big kid potty”.
“I thought for sure you were the quarterback,” I said.
“Why’s that?”
Because you seem to have everyone kissing your ass, just like they all do. “Because you seem popular. In the movies, they’re always the most popular,” I responded.
“Sometimes you’ve gotta flip the script,” RJ laughed.
I didn’t know what to say, so I opened my journal and began to write again. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but I didn’t know what else to say to him. Every time I spoke to him, I felt as if I were embarrassing myself; not that I should have cared because he clearly wasn’t my type, but there was something about him that made me not want to hate him. I wasn’t sure anyone could ever hate him; not even in the slightest.
RJ
So, she was a writer. She had a passion that not even a slamming door could pull her away from. I wondered what she was writing about. I thought about maybe one day finding out.
She actually asked me a question. She continued the conversation, after I completely embarrassed myself by trying to read her personal journal. I didn’t know what to do once she pulled away. Was I supposed to walk away, or continue the conversation? I was shocked when she asked me about football.
Parker slowly eased her way back into writing. Our conversation ended, and it never picked back up, not even when the bell rang, and we walked next to each other as I headed to US History. We turned into the same classroom.
“Looks like we have another class together,” I said. Parker nodded and flashed a quick smile.
I went to the back of the room and took a seat. Parker stayed at the front of the class, greeting Mrs. Foley, our history teacher. Mrs. Foley took Parker’s “new kid” slip, and they waited at the front of the room until the bell rang again, signaling it was time to start class.
“Hello class,” Mrs. Foley began, “as some of you may know, we have a new student here. This is Parker, please make her feel welcome.”
Parker smiled and lifted her hand up in a slight wave toward the class. Mrs. Foley gestured for her to take the last empty seat toward the back of the room, right in front of me. I smiled at her as she walked toward me. She smiled back, turning away from me as she took her seat.
We were learning about the Civil War. I noticed Parker vigorously taking down notes as Mrs. Foley spoke. She was probably behind from all the moving, and being thrown into a class in the middle of a unit couldn’t have been easy. As Mrs. Foley wrote something new on the board, leaving the classroom silent, Parker took her hair out of her ponytail. She flipped it all behind her and it fell down her chair. A scent of coconut filled my nose. I inhaled slowly, slightly closing my eyes.
I didn’t even notice when Mrs. Foley began to speak. “Mr. Davis? Mr. Davis?”
I opened my eyes quickly, only t
o see everyone turned back to look at me. Duke was toward the front of the room; we made eye contact and he lifted his arms in question. I rolled my eyes and looked at Mrs. Foley. “Sorry,” I said.
“How about we stay awake in this class?” she said. “Let’s take some notes, too. Your test is next week.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “My apologies.”
Mrs. Foley looked back at the board and began to write more about Battles of the Civil War: Fredericksburg. I wrote 1862, Confederate victory, Major General Ambrose E. Burnside, and look up something about bridges and Robert E. Lee.
The bell rang forty minutes later, and everyone quickly moved on to their next class, or lunch. I took my time putting my notebook into my backpack, watching as Parker moved so swiftly across the classroom and out of the door. I hung my bag over my right shoulder and headed for the doorway. Once I reached it, I looked both ways to see where Parker went, but she was nowhere in sight.
I wondered if she had lunch at that time, or if she had fourth period. I also wondered why I cared so much. What was it about the new girl that made me want to know her? Why couldn’t I just flirt, ask her out, and move on? I knew she would have a hold on me when disappointment filled my body as I realized she didn’t have the same lunch period I did.
“Daydreaming about all the things you’ll do to the new girl in class today, bro?” Duke laughed as I sat down at our usual table in the corner of the lunchroom. We liked to sit in the back corner, so we could watch everyone, and so we could see if anyone was approaching us. Though, no one really ever dared to approach us.
“Yeah, you could say that,” I laughed, pushing him on his large shoulder.
“RJ here has a new girl situation,” Duke said to the rest of the table. “She’s a total banger too.”
“Why does RJ always get to have the new girl dibs?” Quentin, our star running back asked. “We’re all stars, too.”
“But do you have all of this?” I asked, standing up, lifting my arms, and doing a full slow-motion spin.
Everyone laughed, shutting Quentin up. Q wasn’t a bad looking guy, and he had plenty of girls all over him; but for some reason, I was always the one that went for the new girls. Like I said before, I liked to spice things up a bit; sometimes seeing the same girls every day would get boring. For some reason, though, I could tell that Parker was very different from all the other new girls. She wasn’t throwing herself on me as soon as she saw me. She wasn’t trying to get anyone to notice her. Her quiet demeanor seemed to draw me in, and I knew nothing about her.
Parker
I picked my younger brother, Jackson, up from school on my way home. The elementary school and high school were only one mile away from each other, so my parents decided that it would be my responsibility. Not that this was any different, though. In every new town, my dad would stuck working too hard with the military, and my mom would engulf herself in her art.
My mom was an artist; a fabulous painter. My mom was always excited when we needed to move. She was able to put her name out there in another city, in another part of the country. She tried to get her paintings into different art galleries, usually being successful due to how wonderful the art was. All the new places also gave her inspiration. So once we moved, she locked herself into her “art studio”, which was usually just a room in a basement transformed with a lot of paint and canvases.
Because my parents were so busy, I watched Jackson a lot. I’d pick him up from school, make him an afternoon snack, and then we would usually practice soccer or watch tv.
“I like my teacher,” Jackson said. “She’s really nice.”
“That’s good,” I replied. “What did you do today?”
“We did some math projects with addition, practiced writing in our journals, and I had pizza for lunch,” Jackson said, smiling at the thought of pizza. “Can we have pizza for dinner?”
“No such luck, little bro,” I laughed. Jackson frowned, pulling his eyebrows down as well; he crossed his arms across his chest.
“Is Mama downstairs?” Jackson asked.
“She is,” I replied.
Jackson walked to the basement door and ran down the stairs yelling, “Mama! Mama!”
I followed him down the stairs, not trailing too far behind. When I entered our mom’s studio, she was embracing Jackson in a hug, both smiling. When she noticed me, she unraveled Jackson from her grasp, and walked toward me.
She reached her arms out toward me, “How was my girl’s first day?” she asked, pulling me in to her. She smelled deeply of paint.
I pulled back and looked her in the eyes. I could tell she was in the basement all day, and probably hadn’t eaten. She had bags under her eyes, and she was still wearing her pajamas from the night before. “It was the first day,” I replied, smiling slightly.
“Meet anyone interesting?” my mom asked. Did she just read my mind? Of course I met someone interesting. I’m not even sure I could consider RJ interesting, though. He was something so much more.
“Not really,” I lied, biting my lower lip. “Is anyone hungry?” I asked, changing the subject.
Jackson raised his hand. I knew my mom wouldn’t take anymore time away from her work, so I took Jackson upstairs to make him a snack. He ran to the freezer, pulling out a package of pizza rolls, smiling deviously.
“It’s not pizza,” he said, tossing the bag on the counter.
I gave in. Pizza rolls sounded like a great after school snack. “I’m in,” I smiled.
Jackson pumped his fist in the air and ran into the living room to turn the TV on.
“You’re not allowed to eat in the living room!” I yelled from the kitchen.
“I know,” Jackson replied. “I’m waiting until you’re done cooking them.”
“I can’t even get any company out here while I’m slaving away for you?” I asked, laughing because I knew he’d feel bad and come sit while I cooked for him.
As soon as I heard the sound coming from the TV, it disappeared. I heard Jackson’s small feet make much more noise than you’d expect as he ran into the kitchen, taking a seat on a tall stool at our island counter. He looked me in the eyes, then rolled his. I watched as his deep blue eyes moved to the back of his head, and I wondered how such a young kid could have so much sass.
“Did you meet any friends today?” I asked, laughing at my brother’s poor attitude.
“Duh,” Jackson sassed. Ever since Jackson was a baby, he had an eccentric personality. He never met a stranger, like a dog that always liked to run up to the nearest human to be pet. I never doubted that Jackson would immediately make friends at this new school. We were ten years apart, and we were as different as siblings could be.
Just as I was taking the pizza rolls out of the toaster oven, I heard the garage door open. A few moments later, I heard a car door shut, followed by our mudroom door. Jackson jumped from his stool and ran toward our dad as he walked down the hall toward the kitchen, yelling “Daddy!”
Our dad lifted him up and folded his arms around him, holding him closely. “How was day one?” he asked Jackson.
“The best of course!” Jackson said enthusiastically, slowly being put down by our father.
Our dad walked further into the kitchen, turned to me and smiled, “how was day one, Peanut?”
“Same as all the other day ones,” I said, forcing a smile. I placed five pizza rolls on one plate, and seven on another. “Jack, grab your plate.”
“Thanks, P,” Jackson said, taking the plate with five pizza rolls on it. He knew to always grab the plate with less food ever since he got sick from trying to outdo me in an eating competition the year before. I didn’t eat a lot, but he was only six at the time, so there wasn’t much he could do.
“Do we have dinner plans?” I asked our dad.
“I was hoping since I got home early,” Dad started, “we could go out and try a new restaurant in town. Some of the new guys were telling me about it. It’s Italian, our favorite.”
&
nbsp; “Pizza!” Jackson yelled from the dining room table.
“You had pizza for lunch,” I hollered back. “You’re having pizza now!”
“It’s not pizza,” both Jackson and Dad said at the same time.
I rolled my eyes and laughed, “You are both the same.”
Jackson and Dad laughed together, which brightened my day. They were always such a constant in my life, even though our dad made our life so inconstant; it was such an oxymoron.
“Italian it is,” I said, giving in. Jackson and Dad high fived, the sound of their hands meeting echoed across the house.
I heard a quiet pitter patter as my mom ran up the stairs. My mom was light on her feet, the same as she was with her brush strokes. She was soft in every aspect of life, the opposite of my father.
My mom was five foot, two inches tall. She had the slim body to match it, too. Her hands were half the size of my father’s, and Jackson could almost fit into her shoes. He sure could fit in mine, since I was even smaller than my mother, with no sign of growth in sight. My mom had long black hair that fell all the way to her butt. She took pride in her hair, always brushing it as if it were yet another canvas of hers. Her eyes were the deepest brown I had ever seen; they were almost black. It made me wonder how Jackson and I had such different colored eyes.
As for my father, he stood at six feet tall, with wide shoulders and some of the biggest legs I had ever seen. If you looked up “badass marine” on the internet, you’d probably see a picture of John Cena, and maybe a picture of my dad somewhere in there if you searched past the first page. My dad had the typical marine buzz cut. I always wished he would grow his hair out, because from pictures I had seen when he was younger, he had some of the nicest bleach blonde hair you’d ever see.
My parents were total opposites; from their body types to their interests. The one thing they did have was the love. There was no doubt that they were madly in love. I barely ever saw them fight; they were almost perfect. Even with my dad’s inconsistencies, mom stuck around. Their love seemed to grow as the days went on. They were the people I looked up to, in every aspect of life. I wanted to find the love they had, though I never thought that was a possibility. Sure, the shy girl sometimes gets a great guy in the movies, but this wasn’t the movies, right?